The Sands of Rhun: A Middle Earth Story
by GerithorDunedain
Summary: While Sauron searches for the One Ring in the West, civil war brews in the East. An Easterling warrior forced to fight in the gladiator arenas of Rhun against his will is thrust into the midst of political intrigue and treachery as he struggles to protect those he cares about most, while at the same time desperately searching for his true purpose. *Whole story on Wattpad*
1. Prologue

Heavy iron-shod boots stirred up the desert sand beneath them, swirling it into the dry desert air. The sun, distorting and undulating in the heat waves that rose from the ground, beat down upon columns of armored soldiers, snaking up and down the wavelike dunes like a great bronze serpent.

I let out a rasping cough as the hot dust entered my lungs, watching as the line disappeared over the nearest dune. I hated marching. The rough, heavy boots I wore chafed against my toes, and I could already feel the warm, slippery blood beginning to gather between them, mixing with the coarse grains of sand that had managed to creep in as well. As I adjusted the crested helmet I wore, I couldn't help but wish for the light leather armor I had favored only days before… Before everything had changed.

"You, eyes front!" An officer cried as he bolted by on an armored bay steed. Whether he was speaking to me or not, I fixed my gaze ahead once more, eager to blend in and stand out as little as possible.. Soon we would depart the harsh deserts of Rhun, for we had orders to march on the faraway realm of Gondor… A place that I had only heard of in stories and legends. A land of fair-haired men and of shining white towers that reached to the heavens, of forests greener than the finest emeralds.

A realm that was, to our advantage, accustomed to relative peace.

We had been told that our foe would be few in number and ill-prepared, an easy target for the Golden Horde of the Khan. It would be nothing like the Pit…

If you don't know what the Pit is, it's... Never mind. I should probably tell you the whole story from the beginning. The Pit, the training, how I got here. Who I am. It's a long, sad story, so be prepared. Ready? Good, then allow me to begin...


	2. Chapter 1: Training Begins

_Whoosh! _I dodged as a blade passed within mere inches of my face, the whir heralding its dangerously close passing. I quickly propelled myself into the air, swinging both legs at my opponent in a powerful drop kick. They fell to the ground in a cloud of dust and I leapt on top of them, a dagger in my hand as I covered their throat with the keen blade.

"Enough!" A voice yelled from the sidelines. I stood and offered my hand to my opponent, a dark-skinned girl the same age as me, nineteen. She took it and narrowed her walnut brown eyes, an expression I had become quite familiar with by now. Our trainer, a short, muscle-bound man who was completely bald save a dark topknot, walked into the dueling ring, the stormy glare he gave revealing that he was not pleased.

"Layala, you were... sloppy, to say the least. Rukil, you were a little too slow, but I feel like it's because you weren't actually trying." He spoke with a harsh accent typical of those from southern Rhun, but his tone held a surprising lack of emotion. Layala, my opponent, looked down in shame. I turned back to our trainer, raising a gloved hand defensively.

"She's merely tired, she will do better next time. And she nearly bested me with that swing," I countered, instinctively protective of my training partner. Our trainer looked at me skeptically.

"You always say that Rukil! 'She'll do better next time,' or 'her leg was injured!' Enough excuses! I cannot have weak fighters for the Pit, you know this!" With that he looked at Layala with a slight amount of sympathy, his only concession to any sort of emotion at all, then turned, stalking away to no doubt reprimand other fighters.

Layala and I made our way back to our tent, her shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment. We entered and she dropped her weapons at the entrance, moving to her bed and sitting down on the side of it, staring blankly at the wall of the tent.

I went and sat beside her, saying nothing as I silently wondered what she might be thinking. She wasn't a fighter, and we both knew it. She tried as hard as she could, but in the Pits, trying wouldn't do.

I looked over at her sympathetically.

"Layala, I-"

She cut me off. "No, Rukil! Don't try to make me feel better! Not this time. I know I'm terrible at fighting. And there's nothing I can do to change that. They'll send us both to the Pit in a few weeks, and..." She trailed off, and looked at me with fear in her eyes.

I tried to appear confident as I replied. "Layala, you'll be ready. But we have to practice more, all right? I'll make sure you leave the Pit unscathed."

She smiled uncertainly at me. Her smile always melted me. But it also made it difficult for me to think. I looked at her for a moment, trying to focus and figure out what to say next. But she spoke before I had a chance.

"I know you'll do what you can. But very few leave the Pit alive. You know that as well as I do."

I rested a comforting a hand on her shoulder. "Then let's make sure that we are some of those few."

I stood up and grabbed a bamboo branch that was propped in the corner of the tent, the familiar smoothness of the haft natural in my worn hands. I picked up another and tossed it to Layala. She caught it and laughed, for a moment forgetting her fear. Her laugh made my heart leap, but, as always, I kept it from showing. I grinned roguishly back.

"Let's train, shall we?"

===============================  
We trained all day and late into the evening, hours passing like minutes as we danced under the hot desert sun. By the time it disappeared behind the western dunes, we were both drenched in sweat and our heavy breathing was the only sound that broke the silence of the desert that was quickly falling asleep.

"You're improving!" I exclaimed as I rubbed a bruise on my arm. She had only beaten me once, but overall her performance was significantly better than before.

"Oh stop," Layala laughed as she punched me lightly in the shoulder. "You know you weren't giving it your best. You let me win," she raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"No I didn't!" I acted indignant, watching her expression change to a grin.

"Well you were using a mace, which you yourself said was your worst weapon."

"Perhaps. But you still won handily." I twirled a bamboo staff in my hand and laughed as I watched Layala scrunch her face up.

"Next time give it your best," she smirked and walked past me.

I shook my head and followed her back to the tent. It was still strange sharing a tent with someone else. I had only left home a month before, and I had lived in a tent of my own there. In fact, it was unusual having a friend of any sort. Most of my life, I had been alone.

It was even stranger to think that I had only known Layala for a month. She had quickly become my best friend, and we spent all of our time together. Not that we had any choice. The two of us had been assigned as each other's partners, and when the time came to fight in the Pit we would fight on a team.

"More practice tomorrow?" Layala looked over at me curiously.

"Of course! And the day after that, and the day after that, until you are completely sick and tired of being around me," I chuckled as I set my staff down in the corner of the tent.

"I highly doubt that I would tire of your presence," she assured as she made her way to the entrance. "I need to talk with our trainer, I'll return in a little while. Try not to get into any trouble."

"How could I when you're taking all the trouble with you!" I retorted with a mischevious grin.

Layala snorted and rolled her eyes, turning away and disappearing through the tent flaps.

I let out a tired yawn and leaned back on the pile of furs I used for a bed. After a moment, I lazily reached under the furs, producing an elegant necklace that I had hidden there. It had cost nearly a years' wage, but it was beautiful. The chain was made of silver, and a pendant hung from it that was made of a large sapphire surrounded by two saber cat teeth.

_Now just for a good time to give it to her... _I thought for a moment. Giving it to Layala during training would be odd, to say the least. I wanted the moment to be special. We rarely had time to do much else, but every once in a while our master would let us go to the nearest town to pick up supplies, and those were the days I cherished most.

_Aha! _I thought as the beginnings of a plan sprang into my mind.

No sooner had I decided upon a course of action when Layala returned, an exasperated look on her face. I opened my mouth to speak but she beat me to it.

"I don't understand why he wants me to fight in the Pit! He himself said I'm the worst fighter he's trained in years!" She seemed on the verge of tears. It was difficult for me to understand how she felt. All my life, I had done nothing but fight. It came naturally to me. But despite this, I wanted to help her feel better in whatever small way I could.

"Layala, it's alright. I know you never wanted this, but you'll get through it. _We'll _get through it." I closed the distance between us, lowering my voice in an attempt to reassure her.

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. "Why does it have to be this way?"

The innocence I saw there... It was unlike anything I had seen before. She didn't belong here. She had never told me much about her past, but I knew that she hadn't been born into one of the warrior tribes like I was. She had been sold into this way of life. She was too good for this world of suffering and hardship... And I knew that I wasn't. I looked down, unsure of how to answer. "I don't know Layala. I don't know..."

Taking me off guard, Layala put her arms around me and rested her head on my chest, her tears staining my supple leather armor. My heart skipped a beat and I awkwardly put my arms around her, hoping that somehow she would feel a small amount of assurance in my embrace.

I had never felt the comfort of someone's arms around me. I had been raised to shun this sort of closeness with anyone, for closeness was a nothing more than a liability to a warrior. It was a wholly new experience, and it was one that I didn't mind, despite the circumstances.

We both stayed motionless for a while, sharing in the companionable silence. After a moment I spoke.

"I won't let anything happen to you. You'll be safe." I whispered the words softly, with much more confidence than I felt.

She pulled away just enough to look up at me. "That is all I need to feel safe."

I smiled reassuringly at her. "Do you want to take a break from training tomorrow? I thought perhaps it'd be nice to go into town. I'll ask Master Dakil if we can in the morning."

Layala's face lit up with a smile, and she carefully wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'd love to."

I let go of her and made my way over to my makeshift bed. "Get some sleep then, you'll need your energy. The nearest town is a ten mile walk from here."

She let out a tired sigh. "That's quite a distance."

"It'll be worth it, I promise," I assured her, closing my eyes as I stretched out on the furs.

A moment of silence followed before she spoke again, her voice softer. "Thank you for making me feel safe, Rukil."

I felt my heart skip a beat at her words. I had never felt this way before, and, though it was foreign to me, I welcomed it. As I drifted into the calming embrace of slumber, I promised to myself then that I would keep her safe... no matter what happened.


	3. Chapter 2: An Unexpected Visitors

The next day was heralded in by the hot sun beating down on the desert below, as usual. This part of Rhun was always hot. I still wasn't used to it; I came from the Dorgeshi highlands in the north, which were constantly battered by cold winds and storms.

I pulled the crimson cloth of my head wrap over my face to protect my skin from the sun's rays, casting a pensive glance beside me at Layala. She seemed to be used to the hot weather, and was walking at a steady pace. We had started early on the journey to the village and were making good time.

"I've never asked before... Where are you from?" I felt strange asking her; I probably should have asked much sooner than now, but though our friendship was strong, it hadn't been based upon conversation. We had grown close through sparring, and though it may have seemed like a strange way for a friendship to form to others, it was normal to me. Neither of us knew much about the other, save what little we had discussed in the past. I knew that she hadn't always been a slave, though. And it had always intrigued me.

Layala smiled, as if at a distant memory. "I'm from Morgothrone. I haven't been there in many years though. I was captured when I was..." She counted on her fingers. "Twelve? Perhaps eleven. It's been a while. But I do remember my home."

I smiled at her nostalgic expression, attempting to conjure up an image of the massive capital city of Rhun. "Tell me about it."

Her eyes lit up with excitement as she remembered. "Well, Morgothrone was quite large, and full of people from all manner of distant lands. Merchants, settlers, bands of wandering mercenaries... We saw them all. Slavers too." At this her expression momentarily clouded over before she seemed to shake off the bad memory. "We lived in the Sand District, which is the poorer part of the city. But we had a good life. My father was a blacksmith. Still is most likely..." At this her voice trailed off.

My expression betrayed by surprise. "Your parents weren't enslaved?" It was unusual for slaves to have families that were still free. It was even more unusual in my mind that her family hadn't even tried to find her.

"No. Just me." She sighed wistfully.

"How did it happen?"

Layala took a deep breath. "I was playing in the streets with some friends. I ran into an alley to hide from them and a man grabbed me. He took me to a camp outside of town and then we traveled over the Sorrowing Sea to Runakesh, where I was sold to Master Dakil."

"I'm sorry..." I said. The thought of how much better her life could have been filled me with sadness, for though I couldn't possibly imagine a free life, it had always seemed like a grand way to live.

"Don't be. I wouldn't have met you if it hadn't happened." She smiled, almost as if to reassure me. "How did you get here?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know?"

She shook her head and I realized she probably hadn't been old enough to have heard about my tribe.

"The Dorgeshi have trials at the age of thirteen. The best warriors among us fight to the death, and the winners get sent to the most wealthy lords to train for the Pit. It's brutal, but it ensures that our chances of succeeding in the Pit are higher. Since we're the smallest tribe we're only required to levy a few fighters a year."

Layala looked at me in shock. "So you... You... Killed children?"

"I had to. I wasn't given a choice to participate, and I was practically one myself. My father is... or was, the chieftain of our tribe, and never cared about me. He raised me to fight, and that's all." I spoke the words with a hint of bitterness. Though that life was past, I still harbored feelings of anger toward the man who had forced me to live the way I had. 'Father' was a term that I only used as a description; He had never been that to me.

"I'm sorry, that must've been hard." Layala looked at me with sorrow in her eyes.

"It's all I've ever known. To be honest being a slave has been an improvement."

"But you're not technically a slave, right?" She seemed confused.

"Technically no. I'm a volunteer. But in reality I'm a slave, since I had no choice in the matter and I'm treated the same as one."

"Why aren't you the heir to your father's rule?"

I snorted. "My older brother Ramil is. But he is fat and lazy, and has been pampered his whole life. His rule will most likely be short and bloody. Other opportunistic tribesmen will see his weakness and take advantage of it."

"Your tribe sounds exciting," Layala said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Did I mention my father has twelve wives? I never knew which one was my mother. Our tribe is very... exciting, as you so aptly worded it," I laughed.

"That sounds like a hard life though. No parents who cared about you. Did you have friends?"

"Yes, several. Though 'friend' is sort of a relative term. My closest friend went to the Pit a couple years ago."

"Did he survive?"

I pulled the headwrap over my face tighter to keep the heat off my skin. "Yes. I heard he joined the Royal Guard. I haven't talked to him since then though."

Layala remained silent, and we continued to walk slowly along the weather-beaten road. Little brush of any sort grew here, and large, formless dunes seemed to go on forever like great sandy waves. The sun constantly beat down upon it, withering any plants brave enough to emerge from the brittle ground. Those few that did survive hid in the shadows of the tall, jagged rocks that sprung from the landscape like the teeth of a great beast.

Suddenly, as I was scanning the area around us, I saw movement near a rock to the right. I tensed and grabbed Layala's arm.

"What is it?" She asked worriedly.

"I'm not sure. Something moved behind that rock." I nodded my head in the direction of the rock, trying to be subtle.

"Bandits?" Layala said and put a hand to the sword at her side.

"I don't think so. This is a bad place to ambush someone." I looked around at our surroundings. Other than the rock, there were really no good places to hide. There was a tall dune to our left but it was too far away from the road to be an effective ambush spot.

Without warning, a huge sand colored creature jumped from behind the rock and on top of me, not giving me a chance to draw my daggers. I was face to face with a huge cat, its yellow eyes glaring inches away from me. Its long teeth clamped open, preparing to bite my neck. Thick, filmy saliva dripped from its jaws, stinking of sick and rotted flesh. I pushed against the beast with all my strength but it slowly was overpowering me.

Abruptly it jumped back with a cry. Layala's blade had pierced its side and it roared in pain and frustration at having lost its prey. I sprang to my feet and pulled out my curved of them left my hand with incredible speed, lodging into the massive cat's eye. Blood spurted from it as the cat began clawing at its face in pain. I leapt towards the cat and surgically stabbed at its neck, right into the jugular vein. I ripped my other dagger from its eye and stabbed the other side of its neck. Warm blood spurted from its neck onto me as the cat shook and collapsed to the ground, dead before it even landed upon the hot sand.

I wrung my hands after sheathing my blades, attempting in vain to clean them of the warm, sticky blood that now covered them.

"Well that was... Dramatic." I raised an eyebrow and looked at the dead cat. "What exactly is that?"

Layala smirked at the expression on my face but I could see that she was still shaking from the encounter. "That is a saber cat. One of the most dangerous predators in the area. I remember the town guard of my home city would often post bounties for them. Do they not have those up north?"

"They do... They're just much smaller. And have longer, greyer fur." I wiped the blood away from my eyes as best as I could. "They didn't usually attack Men though."

"They're quite aggressive... at least, the ones here are. I remember stories of them becoming accustomed to human flesh, and sometimes they would only hunt Men once they had grown so accustomed," Layala said, shuddering as she stared at the massive body of the cat.

"We should keep moving," I said, noting her discomfort. "The scent of blood may attract other predators."

"You're right. Let's go, the sooner we arrive the sooner we can rest," she replied, casting one last apprehensive glance over her shoulder at the beast before following me down the dusty path.

===============================  
We arrived at the village an hour or so later. It was a relatively small place by the name of Var'een, but since it was one of the only towns in this part of the vast desert it was bustling with people who had come there to trade. Layala and I looked out of place among the civilians, our padded leather armor and daggers making us stand out as what they probably assumed were sellswords.

One particular man seemed to notice after a few moments of us aimlessly wandering the streets and approached us.

"You wouldn't happen to be mercenaries would you?" He asked with a harsh southern Rhunic accent. He was short, heavyset, and had luxurious clothes on. Clothes that, from my limited knowledge, were likely far above those that folk around here could afford.

"Why are you asking?" I asked evenly, curious at the man's attention.

"I'm in the business of... _Hiring_ soldiers," the portly man said, choosing his words carefully. There was something about him that seemed... Slimy. And I didn't like it.

"You will have to speak with our master," I said, hoping to deter him. "We are pit fighters, not soldiers. You'd do better to look in Runakesh, or perhaps Morgothrone."

"Where is he? Your master, I mean," The man inquired, not being put off so easily. I frowned slightly, unsure of how to deal with this strange fellow.

"He has a camp several miles outside of town," I said. "But surely there are other mercenaries that would be easier to acquire the services of...?"

"No... I like the looks of you two. Though you will have to prove your prowess sooner or later..." The man said in a strange tone. "But regardless! Take me to your master!"

I sighed. This trip wasn't going as planned at all. I was hoping to spend a nice day with Layala, but now... There really wasn't much I could do. As slaves, we would be punished severely if we didn't obey this man, whose clothing and self-important bearing made it apparent that he was at least of the upper class, if not a dignitary of some sort. I had seen enough of those in my father's court to sense their conniving ways.

"Very well," I said calmly, trying to hide my annoyance. I looked over at Layala. Her face was unreadable. "It will be a long walk..." I said and looked down at the man's bulging stomach with disdain. I doubted he could walk that far, given his substantial weight.

The man noticed and narrowed his eyes, then changed his expression abruptly into a smile. "I have horses enough for us all! It will be no trouble."

I rolled my eyes. This wasn't going to be good...

===============================  
We returned to camp by dusk. The air was significantly cooler now, and I felt the wind bite against my uncovered arms. The Fat Man(as I had taken to calling him in my mind) was breathing heavily, and his round face was covered in sweat. I felt bad for his poor horse, who looked disproportionately small compared to his rider.

As we rode into the camp, I couldn't help but fix a sour gaze upon the back of the Fat Man's smooth head. Not only had he ruined my plans, but he had also relentlessly philandered with Layala for most of the journey. There had been at least three instances where I had wanted to kill him, and Layala's patient smile had been the only thing that stayed my hand.

Our master sleepily emerged from his tent, which was by far the largest in the camp, and greeted the Fat Man with a bow.

"I am Dakil, at your service." He followed this with a masked yawn.

The Fat Man bowed his large head, a thin sheen of sweat reflecting in the setting sun. "I am called Rhasa. Your property here intrigued me. I have need of their services."

I cringed at the Fat Man calling us _property. _I glanced over at Layala and she was glaring at the man. I reached over and put a hand on her arm, which seemed only to calm her slightly.

Master Dakil smiled, his thin moustache turning up with his lips. "I am flattered! But I do not usually hire out my fighters."

The Fat Man grinned. "This is not an ordinary circumstance, my friend. Come! Let us talk in private. I have a proposition for you."

With that the two men entered Master Dakil's tent, leaving Layala and I alone.  
We were both still mounted on the borrowed horses.

"The nerve of him!" Layala growled, her face reddening with anger.

"Calm down Layala, being angry will not solve anything," I said, trying to stay calm myself. I had been mistreated many times, and it was nothing unusual for me. But for someone to belittle Layala in such a way... It took everything in me to keep from acting out.

"They think we can just be bartered? Like property?" she spat on the ground.

"That's why we must win at the Pit. We can both be free that way." I spoke silently, but with determination. She would be free again, one way or another.

I subconsciously put my hand into the pouch at my side, and when I felt the cool metal of the necklace brush against my fingers I remembered why we had made the journey in the first place.

Better to give it to her later, I thought. "Let's go get some sleep, we can leave the horses here." I dismounted and tied the horse at a nearby post and waited for Layala to do the same. I looked over at our master's tent and narrowed my eyes. I had a gnawing feeling that things wouldn't be the same after this.

I was right.


	4. Chapter 3: A Light in the Darkness

The next day dawned much like any other, and we began to train, oblivious to the looming storm of change that was about to engulf us both. I was using a sword and shield, a combination that Layala struggled against.

She struck quickly, her scimitar clashing against my shield and sending sparks flying from the strength of the blow. But she had overextended. The power of her attack had forced her off balance ever-so-slightly, a mistake that I chose to capitalize on.

I swept at her feet with my blade, forcing her to leap backwards. Off balance even more, I took the offensive, quickly pushing Layala into a retreat that ended with me disarming her and rapidly covering the distance between us, my sword at her throat.

"Well done... As always." Layala laughed and pushed the blade of my sword away. I joined her in laughing and helped her up, and she went to retrieve her blade.

"Shall we go again?" I asked. She was about to respond when Lykar, our trainer, approached.

"I need to speak with both of you." He said in a measured voice. I nodded, though I could already tell from his demeanor that something was wrong.

"Your master wants me to be tougher on you both. If you do poorly in a fight, you are to be whipped." He spoke the words hesitantly, as if he disagreed with the decision but knew he had to carry it out anyway.

My eyes widened. "Why??"

"Master Dakil made a deal with that man who visited. The man will personally recruit the two of you into his master's army if you survive the Pit. After the fight, you will report to his master and leave the servitude of Master Dakil forever."

A flurry of emotions surged through me at that moment, most of them varying degrees of anger. We were supposed to be freed! How could he sell us into slavery again? Part of me wasn't surprised at Master Dakil's treachery. I had never liked the small, shrewish man. But as I began to realize the implications of what the deal meant, I knew that Layala must have felt even worse. I had never tasted freedom, so losing it didn't mean as much to me. But for her... It must have been a crushing blow.

"Why? What right does he have to barter our lives??" I felt the blood rising to my head, but I knew that it wasn't Lykar's fault.

"You new master will be Lord Khanar. He's the Khan's general, the leader of Rhun's vast armies. A contract with him will make Master Dakil rich."

Layala looked physically ill, and suddenly, it dawned on me; Buying us wasn't likely a mere coincidence. As the Prince of an important, if not distant, tribe, I would be valuable leverage for the general of an increasingly divided army. How he knew who I was, I did not yet know. But if this was the case, Layala was just part of the deal because we were a team.

The thought made me sick.

My mind rushed with all of the possible options. I could attack now and make a desperate attempt to escape with Layala. But neither of us would make it. Master Dakil had a small army of his own under his control, and he wouldn't easily lose us now. Perhaps we would have another opportunity to escape. But once we joined the Khan's army, the chances would fade drastically.

"We won't disappoint," I said through gritted teeth, deciding to bide my time until later. We really didn't have any say in the matter... Not now.

"I hope not," Lykar said and left the ring, sitting just outside to watch.

We both did our best. My best was more than enough. Layala's wasn't. Even though I was going easy on her I still defeated her within a few minutes.

Lykar came into the ring, a whip in hand. My eyes widened and I ran to stop him.

"Lykar, no. She did her best, she doesn't deserve this." I reached for his arm but he recoiled away, a frown creasing his features.

"I'm sorry Rukil, it's the master's orders. He'll rid himself of me if I do not obey," he said, and though he was an even, expressionless man I could almost hear an apologetic tone in his voice.

"What if he never finds out?" I asked cautiously.

"He's going to make sure at least one of you has been beaten by the end of the day."

"Then beat me instead!" I said urgently and grabbed Lykar's arm. "She'll do even worse if she's weakened." I attempted to sound logical, but instead only ended up sounding desperate.

Layala took a step forward, her tone begging. "No! I can't let you take my punishment for me."

I gave her a bleak smile. "Listen, I want to do this for you. Please."

After a moment of what seemed like inner conflict, she sighed with resignation and touched my arm softly. "Thank you," she whispered as Lykar pulled me away.

That was the first of many beatings. Lykar started out by barely whipping me. He seemed very reluctant to do so. But after a few days, Master Dakil started to watch. And so what was once a few lashes became many. By the end my back was bloodied and torn, and I'd return to the tent barely conscious each night. It became harder and harder to train each day.

Eventually, Master Dakil requested that Lykar beat me with a club in addition to the whip for his entertainment. One night when I returned and collapsed on the ground inside the tent, Layala ran to my side in tears.

"Why Rukil?? Why do you take these beatings for me? I can't stand to see you get whipped like this!" She sat down next to me and put her head in her hands.

I turned over and looked at her through a swollen eye. "Because..." I didn't know what to say. I felt different about her than I had about anyone else. It was something unlike anything I had ever known. But I didn't know how to say it. I had never been told how. Instead I simply said, "Because I care about you."

She looked over at me, her dark brown eyes looking into mine. "Why do you care about me? I'm a terrible fighter, I make you look bad, and I'm making you get beaten now."

"Because you're different..." I said haltingly, unused to letting my emotions show. "You're the only light in this life of darkness I've lived. Words aren't adequate to explain it." I turned away awkwardly. I would never be able to tell her how I truly felt. I was raised in a world where emotions were weakness, where only the strong survived. Emotions were foreign to me... Especially the emotions I felt toward Layala.

She smiled, and I felt her hand on mine. "I'm glad you care. If I didn't have you here I don't know if I could make it."

I intertwined my fingers in hers and squeezed her hand, closing my eyes and smiling. I fell asleep to the sound of Layala's steady breathing.

The following days were easier, not because the beatings were any less(they got worse) but because Layala gave me a reason to stay strong.

She was improving in our training as well, and was besting me in more and more of our duels. The beatings weakened me, but that wasn't it. She was definitely getting better.

I, on the other hand, was doing worse and worse. My back was constantly bleeding from the whippings, and the bruises made every movement painful. But that turned out to be a blessing.

One day when we were dueling, I collapsed. The beatings had left me too weak to stand. Lykar ran into the ring and had two servants carry me out as I felt my senses begin to fade. The last thing I remember hearing before I passed out was Lykar saying, "he won't be able to fight in the Pit like this. The beatings must stop!"

I awoke in a bed. I had never slept in a bed before, and it felt strange. Like I was sinking into the mattress. I quickly sat up, but the pain that rushed to my head made me quickly lay back down. I looked around, and to my disappointment saw that I was alone. I had hoped Layala would be there.

I was blinded as the tent flaps opened and a young woman I had never seen before entered. She was most likely one of Master Dakil's personal maids, as he kept several of the more sophisticated slaves to care for his family. She saw that I was awake and smiled at me.

"How long have I been out?" I asked. My voice sounded surprisingly hoarse, and my throat was sore.

"Only a few hours," she said as she sat on the side of my bed. She had a cup full of water and propped my head up with her hand. "Here, drink."

I gulped thirstily at the water. It had honey in it, and it brought cool relief to my parched throat. "Thank you," I croaked and smiled gratefully.

The young woman smiled back and left the tent. A moment later Lykar walked in.

"You're doing better?" He said with relief.

"Yes," I said quietly, not taking my eyes off him. I couldn't help but imagine his emotionless expression as he whipped me to within an inch of my life, an occurrence that was now deeply ingrained in my mind.

"I wanted to apologize. You know I had no choice. I wouldn't have beaten or whipped you otherwise." His harsh accent made his words sound cold, but the look on his face told me he genuinely felt remorseful for his actions.

"Apology accepted," I replied. I knew holding a grudge wouldn't help anything... Even though part of me wanted to run him through with his own blade.

Lykar's mouth turned up into a slight smile, and he bowed his head in gratitude. "Rest for a while. I convinced Master Dakil to let me stop beating you."

"Thank you Lykar," I said, the relief seeping into my tone despite my best efforts to hide any sort of real gratefulness to him.

The beatings stopped after that. I regained my former strength slowly, and my back mostly healed. Scars remained, but that was all.

Talk of traveling to the Pit started to fill the camp, and I made it my goal to teach Layala all I knew before the time came. We only had a few weeks, but I tried to make them count. While she wasn't a natural fighter, she slowly made progress. She became relatively efficient with a spear, able to disarm me with a combination I had taught her; She was also able to throw one quite effectively, consistently able to hit a target the size of a man's torso.

But I knew what kind of enemies we would face there. They would show no mercy.

I also knew in my heart that I had an important decision to make. I had to make sure that she survived, even if I didn't. There was a future for her, but for me? I had no-one. No goal to drive me. All I had was a vague notion of revenge against a father I barely knew and a tribe that had been indifferent to me at the best of times.

I would see to it that Layala saw her family again... No matter what.


	5. Chapter 4: Morgothrone

The day came upon us sooner than I had expected. The camp was bustling with activity as everyone made preparations to leave, soon dismantling the tents that had been our home for several months. Layala and I stood silently watching, my arms crossed as I took note of everything. Several other pairs of fighters mulled around as well, and they occasionally glanced over at us. I studied each of them, my face devoid of expression.

These weren't the only other teams we'd be fighting in the Pit, but I figured it was wise to at least make sure I was familiar with some of my opponents.

The first pair was made of two women. One was short and her face was covered in scars. Her small, beady eyes made contact with mine and she glared at me. I stared at her until she turned away uncomfortably. Even this short exchange told me something. She was weak, trying too hard to act tough. Her companion was tall by contrast, and had paler skin. Blue tattoos adorned her face in a swirling pattern that made her look almost feline, and her icy blue eyes roved to and fro like a predator searching for prey. Her bare arms were covered in tattoos as well. She didn't acknowledge my gaze.

My gaze turned to the second pair. Both were large burly men. Corsairs from the look of them. The corsairs of Umbar were known to be ruthless men, pirates and cutthroats who couldn't even be trusted by their own. One of them grinned at me, his yellow teeth rotting and crooked. He punched his companion in the shoulder. The other man looked at me and Layala and guffawed. He had a bright red mohawk and two golden hoop earrings dangling from his ears.

The final pair looked similar to us, but the roles were reversed. The man was short and fidgeted nervously, afraid to meet my gaze. The woman looked tough, more like a military veteran than a brute mercenary. She studied me intently, narrowing her eyes in acknowledgment and nodding slightly. After a moment she walked over and stopped within a few feet of us.

"Can we talk? Away from the others? My name is Kirtra." She said in a harsh southern Rhunic accent, and waved her companion over. He stopped a little behind her and began to study the ground.

"Why?" I said quietly, tilting my head to the side slightly.

"Because I have a proposition that may interest you," Kirtra said, pointing towards the edge of the camp. I looked at Layala. She shrugged.

"Very well, lead the way." We followed the two other fighters and as we passed the two corsairs, one of them snarled at me. I elected to ignore him.

We reached a small oasis near the edge of camp and stopped, looking around to ensure we were safe.

"What was this deal you spoke of?" I said measuredly. I looked at the small man first, who practically cowered at my gaze, then turned to lock my gaze on Kirtra.

"The Pit fights are treacherous, you know this. My husband Damil isn't a fighter," she motioned towards the small man. "I am; I served with the Loke-Gamp-Rim for a year," she explained with a slight smile of pride. "But I alone cannot protect us both, especially in the chaos of the Pit. It would be good to have allies. I'm sure you wouldn't object to a little extra help?" She ran a hand through her dark hair, which was braided into unkempt rows.

"We would have to protect a helpless individual," I narrowed my eyes. "I do not see how we benefit from this."

"I have money. It isn't much, but it is something." She pulled out a small bag and shook it. The sound of clinking coins filled the air.

"Give us a moment," I turned to Layala and gently pulled her aside. "What do you think?"

She seemed to be in thought for a moment, then responded. "I don't see why not. We should help people when we can."

Morgoth. This was the kind of thinking that would get us both killed.

"That's not how this works. It's us or them. We can't all survive."

She sighed, looking down at the ground to hide her expression. "I suppose you're right... You'd know better than me."

For some reason a pang of remorse went through me at her words. I did know. But I also knew something was missing inside me. She naturally cared about people. I considered them a liability, a tool that could be used and disposed of when it had served its purpose. Layala was the only person I had ever truly cared about.

"Listen. We can't accept their deal. But I think I have an idea." With that I walked back to the woman and her husband.

"We cannot actively protect you. However, we will help you where we can in the Pit. And we won't fight you directly unless it's entirely necessary."

Kirtra looked disappointed and sighed in frustration. "Very well. I suppose that's the best we will get. There's no point in asking the others, they look like the type that enjoy killing. Thank you."

I walked away, but over my shoulder I said, "The short scarred woman. I wouldn't worry about her." Perhaps this information would help them somehow, at least.

Layala followed me and we returned to our place. A gnawing feeling of guilt began to nag at my conscious, but I attempted to push it away. I could only afford to protect one person.

We waited around for another hour or so, and by then the caravan was ready to travel. The long, trailing line of beasts of burden and fighters began to meander across the desert, to the Golden City itself.

To Morgothrone.

The sun beat down hot on the caravan, and the sand sent heat mirages into the air. I was parched, but forced myself to conserve water. I wouldn't be given any more than what I had in my canteen.

Layala trudged beside me, wearing an expression I could only describe as contemplative. Her nose was slightly scrunched up, and her deep brown eyes were narrowed in concentration.

"What're you thinking about?" I glanced over at her. She snapped out of her reverie and looked back at me.

"I was just thinking... I wonder if it'd be possible to visit my family while we're there."

I thought for a moment. "Once the fight is over, we may get leave to visit."

Her demeanor suddenly grew sorrowful. "What if I don't make it though? Wouldn't it be better to visit them before?"

I hurried to reassure her. "You'll make it Layala. I'll make sure of it."

She smiled at me, her eyes shining. "I know you will."

She looked past me and her expression abruptly transformed into a frown, and I turned to see what she was looking at. The corsair with the red mohawk was watching Layala intently, and he sneered when I noticed him. I glared at him and put a hand on one of my daggers. A nearby guard saw and ran over quickly, drawing a rusted scimitar as he stepped between the corsair and I.

"None of that slaves! At least not until the Pit." Another guard walked up and snickered, a hand on the hilt of his own weapon. I moved my hand away from my dagger but kept my eyes fixed on the corsair. The burly man put a finger to his throat and made a cutting motion with it, then laughed and turned to talk with his companion.

I felt a soft hand touch my shoulder. "It's alright, calm down." Layala looked up at me and gently rested a hand my arm. I attempted a smile for her, but couldn't help looking back at the corsair in anger.

Later on in the journey, the guards had to break up a fight between the other corsair and the tall tattooed woman. The corsair had made an aggressive comment and without saying a word the woman had pounced upon him like an angry lioness. Weapons were drawn but nobody was hurt, for the guards responded quickly and separated the two.

Well, it's good to know there are others who don't like the corsairs, I thought to myself.

Kirtra and her husband walked slightly behind us, and seemed to be using us as a shield. I didn't mind, as long as they didn't expect us to be permanent protection.

They watched the fight unfold with equal interest.

The lines were being drawn. The enemies were clear now. And while I didn't trust any of the others, I knew that there were some who wouldn't be as much of a threat as others. But there were still the other teams of fighters that I hadn't seen, and most likely wouldn't see until the fight.

I tried not to think about it. The closer we got, the more fear I felt. I had been in fights before, but never one so dangerous as this. And now I cared about someone who'd be fighting in it too.

The tall spires and thick sand colored walls of Morgothrone came into sight at around sunset. Even from a distance, the city was bigger looking than anything I had ever seen. My tribe didn't even have cities; we moved around the northern steps as nomads, always following the wild Kine herds. So seeing a city this large filled me with awe.

As we got closer I could see the setting sun shining off the golden tops of the spires. Banners billowed in the wind, banners of all the tribes united under the Khanate. I recognized the banner of my own tribe, a red boar on a black background, on the far side of the wall.

A grating voice called out from the parapets and I saw a bronze armored guard watching us. One of the caravan guards called back in Rhunic and the guard signaled to two others.

The gates opened with a creak and we entered the city.

I had never seen so many people in one place. Even though the day was nearing its end, droves of people walked the streets, some stopping at market stalls and purchasing goods with money earned at the end of the workday. Few even turned to look at us, which led me to believe that they were used to seeing caravans of fighters going through the city.

We walked along the crowded streets until a huge domed building came into sight. Two massive statues stood in front of it, weapons held high as a warning to those going any further. On the right was Morgoth, the legendary diety of these lands. He had, according to the stories, led Rhun's first armies against the tyrannical creator being Eru Illuvatar. Morgoth, also called Melkor, was defeated, but he brought freedom to the East and passed into myth; Many Easterlings still worshipped him to this day.

The other statue was Sauron, Morgoth's successor and the second god-figure in most sects of Easterling religion. He, unlike Morgoth, still lived, ruling from his mighty tower of Barad-Dur. From what little I knew, he was gathering Rhun's armies to him in what was to be the Final War against the Westrons; These were the collective enemies of Rhun since time immemorial, waging war against us and bringing the border tribes untold suffering.

My tribe, being far removed from these conflicts, neither worshipped the Dark Lords or sent levies to join their wars. We had our own pantheon and systems of belief, and although these were deemed primitive by most, they had spared us from the untold bloodshed our southern counterparts had endured.

As we passed under them, I couldn't help but feel as if their lifeless stone eyes were watching us... Judging us. I shivered involuntarily and glanced over at Layala, who seemed fixated on the main structure ahead. She nudged me and pointed to it.

"That's the Pit," she said nervously. "It looks like we're going straight there."

She let out a quiet sigh and we silently walked together, taking in the surroundings. After a few moments we passed a street that went downhill, and Layala nodded toward it.

"That's the main street to the Sand District. Just a little distance down it is... Was my home." She gazed sadly down the road as we passed it. I lowered my voice, ensuring none of the guards could overhear me.

"The fight isn't until tomorrow. If you want I can ask Lykar to let us explore the city tonight."

She squeezed my arm and smiled up at me. "I'd like that."

"It shall be done then," I assured her as I looked to the front of the line. The caravan had stopped, and many of the fighters paced restlessly back and forth in the shadow of the place that would no doubt be the grave of most of them. Master Dakil was speaking with a man in front of the main entrance and filling out papers.

After a few minutes he finished, and the man pointed Dakil to a side entrance that read "Fighters" in faded red ink. The beast handlers in our caravan turned and went down a side road, leaving just the fighters, our trainers, and our guards.

We were led through the entrance down into a dark, musty hallway. The sound of clashing steel echoed from several side rooms, where other fighters were training. We were immediately assailed by the smell of old blood and vomit, and occasionally a cry of pain would echo through the bleak halls. Layala gripped my arm tighter and I took her hand.

We were eventually led into a small room, its only adornments stuffed training dummies and archery targets. A guard was posted outside, and Layala, Lykar, and I were left alone.

"Welcome to the Pit," Lykar said, making a sweeping gesture with one hand. "I know the accommodations aren't the best, but you'll only be here one night. I'm in a room down the hall if you need me." With that he turned and began to leave, but I stopped him.

"I know this is a lot to ask... But is there any way we could go out into the city tonight?"

He looked at me with a remorseful expression. "I'm sorry Rukil, but once you're signed up as a fighter you can't leave the Pit until the fight is over. You'll have to hope that Morgoth smiles upon you and shows you both fortune in the Pit."

I looked over at Layala, who looked as if she were about to cry. I put an arm around her and she buried her head in my shoulder. Lykar looked upset himself.

"If there was any way I could make it happen, I would." He walked to the door. "But if you need food or blankets or anything, let me know." He turned, quickly disappearing into the dimly lit hallway.

"I'm sorry Layala..." I said quietly, trying to hide the despair in my voice. But in this place, it was hard for even me to keep my hopes up.


	6. Chapter 5: Preparations

I slept fitfully that night, and the next morning was heralded in all too soon by the sound of the other fighters practicing, praying to their respective deities, or eating a hurried breakfast. I didn't eat; I felt sick to my stomach. I wasn't scared of the fight itself; I had fought countless times before. It was more the thought of possibly losing Layala that upset me more than anything else.

I glanced over at Layala, who was picking at a bowl of porridge. I noticed that the hand she was holding the spoon with was shaking. She was staring blankly at the porridge, her mind clearly on other things. I walked behind her and looked over her shoulder at the food.

"That porridge must be fascinating," I said jokingly, trying to lighten her mood.

She broke out of her daze and laughed softly. "No, it's actually quite repulsive." She poked at it halfheartedly. As the mealy substance separated in the thin milk, I felt my stomach turn as I realized that she was probably right.

"It'll be alright, you know," I said, trying my best to sound reassuring.

"Do you really think so?" She said, worry filtering into her voice.

I didn't know, to be honest. In fact, the chances of it turning out alright were slim. But there was no point in telling her that. Besides, I felt like I needed to be assured myself.

"I hope so," I murmured, trying to project confidence I didn't feel into my voice. I slowly walked over to the other side of the room, looking out the tiny barred window.

I could see a long line outside. People were gathering for the fight, I assumed. Many of them had bags of money at their belts, and several groups were huddled together counting coins and exchanging them. What kind of people would enjoy watching such a spectacle, much less bet on it? I looked at each person in the line individually, and as I studied them and their rich, colorful robes and soft hands my answer came. Only those who had never experienced such horrors firsthand.

The thought took me back to the first time I had killed... Over six years ago, when I was just a boy of twelve.

*Flashback*==================

I spit out a mouthful of blood as I got back onto my feet. My opponent, one of my friends named Edil, stood a short distance away holding a bowstaff. I reached for my weapon, a short halberd with a hook on the end, and stood tall, ignoring the pain from the previous blow. My right eye was already swelling, and it was difficult to see through it.

Edil wordlessly lunged at me, using a quick combination of strikes that put me into retreat. His skill with a bowstaff was unparalleled among the younger fighters, and the quick spinning of the weapon unnerved me. Instead of blocking the attacks I focused on getting out of the way. I was letting him have the upper hand, gauging his attentiveness.

The staff whirred as Edil rapidly spun it around, pushing me further back until I was nearly to the edge of the ring.

It was now or never.

I rapidly sprang into the air, my momentum carrying me over Edil as I used the outer wall as a launching pad. As I passed overhead I managed to land a kick on his face that knocked him back. As soon as my feet made contact with the ground I spun around, the blade of my halberd making contact with my opponent's back. He let out a cry of pain that he quickly silenced. We had been trained not to show emotion in a fight, no matter the pain.

I looked over to where my father and several other of our tribe's leading members sat. They were shaking their heads in disapproval and murmuring amongst themselves.

I looked back at Edil just in time to duck a swing that had been aimed for my head. He had recovered to some extent, though his breathing was heavier and I noticed blood dripping onto the ground from his back. I now had the upper hand.

I swung my halberd, and Edil blocked the blow just in time. I swung again, harder this time. I noticed that he was blocking with the exact same part of his staff each time. So I swung once more, this time putting my full strength into it. His bowstaff split in half with a loud crack and he sprang backwards, out of the reach of my weapon. I saw fear in his eyes.

I stalked forward like a tiger that had cornered his prey. Edil suddenly launched forward in a last ditch attack, sending a swinging kick towards my head. But we both knew that I was the better hand to hand fighter.

I narrowed my eyes and threw my halberd away, pouncing on him with a jumping punch, followed by several swift strikes. He blocked with his forearms and stepped back. His breathing was labored and he looked pale. The wound in his back must have been deeper than I thought it was.

Unexpectedly he drew the knife from his belt and leapt at me. With lightning fast speed I grabbed his wrist and twisted the knife out of his hands, grabbing it in my other hand and stabbing him in the stomach.

His eyes widened in shock and he stepped back. "Well... done Rukil," he gasped quietly and fell to his knees. I walked behind him, putting the knife to his neck and looking at the tribe's leaders. My father looked at me with pride... No, it wasn't pride. It was something else. Approval, perhaps. He had never been proud of me before.

"Kill him," he said emotionlessly, his tattooed face wrinkling. The other elders nodded in affirmation.

I looked back at Edil. He looked back up at me and nodded defeatedly. He knew he had lost fairly. This is how it was supposed to happen. But despite that, there was fear in his eyes. Fear of death.

I didn't want to kill him. We had been friends from a young age... Or at least, as best of friends as we could be, given that all we did was practice fighting. But if I didn't, I would be sold into slavery. Maybe even executed.

"I'm ready," Edil whispered. He closed his eyes and raised his head, leaving his neck vulnerable to my blade. I closed my own eyes and cried out, pulling the blade across his neck in a swift motion.

His body fell to the ground with a thud, a few spurts of blood hitting my face as he fell. I opened my eyes and looked at the elders, hate gleaming in my eyes. I would never forget.

I had taken part in many fights after that. I knew to never befriend opponents. But I fought until I could kill no more. I would have been sent to fight in the Pit regardless. I finally refused to kill an opponent, and so I was sold into sent to Master Dakil... Just so I could eventually kill here instead.

It would've been a mercy if they had just executed me instead of letting me live to do this, I thought to myself with bitterness. Why was I subjected to such punishment? What had I done to deserve it?

"Rukil?" A guttural voice broke me from my reverie. I turned around to see Lykar standing at the door.

"The fight is about to begin, it's time to make preparations," he said, motioning down the hallway. "There's a sizable armory down the hall, you should pick out your weapons before they're all taken."

Layala followed Lykar into the hallway, and I followed her. She seemed nervous, but ready.

We reached a large room full of weapons and armor. Several fighters were mulling through them, taking their pick of the best weapons.

"Knowing the way you both fight, I recommend finding some light armor. The heavy stuff will only slow you down," Lykar pointed to a row of armor stands. I walked over and examined each, finally deciding on a suit of red-stained leather with spiked leather pauldrons. I strapped it on and went over to a table upon which were many helmets of all shapes and sizes. One in particular caught my eye.

It was a steel helmet with a tall red crest. It had a slit for the eyes that also went down and left the bottom open. It would suitably protect my entire head while still allowing enough visibility to see around me.

I picked it up and it was surprisingly light. This helmet would definitely do. I put it on, the odor of sweat immediately assailing my senses. It had been used... Recently.

After taking a moment to acclimate to the strong smell I turned and looked around, searching the room for Layala. I found her on the far side of the room.

She was wearing a black headwrap that covered all but her eyes. A suit of light chain mail covered the sleeveless black leather cuirass she had chosen, providing a good combination of protection and mobility.

I strode over to her and looked down at her through the slit of my helmet.

"My, you look intimidating," she laughed and gently pushed me.

I grinned. "You don't exactly look like someone little children would run to for help yourself."

She raised an eyebrow and removed the headwrap. "What weapon will you use?"

I glanced over at the weapon rack, and pointed at a short, double-bladed spear.

"That right there. That'll do nicely. What about you?"

She patted the daggers on either side of her belt. "These. That's what I'm best with right?"

I glanced back at the weapon rack. Taking Layala's hand, I walked over to it and picked up a javelin.

"You're quite good with one of these as well. It might be useful to be able to attack from a distance, we don't know what we'll be fighting out there." I handed the javelin to her, and she picked up two more.

"You're right." She put all three javelins into a large bag and slung them over her back.

"Are you ready?" She asked with a sigh.

"As ready as I'll ever be." I reached into my pocket, feeling the cold steel of the necklace. There had been no opportunity to give it to her; But I knew that if I didn't now, there was a chance I never would. I opened my mouth to speak, but she began first.

"Promise me you'll make it," Layala whispered, her voice breaking.

"I'll do my best," I replied, my own voice quivering slightly. Before I had a chance to continue, she wrapped her arms around me, and I returned the embrace as I felt a pang of sorrow. Something within me told me that we wouldn't leave this fight unscathed. We stood in silence for a moment, oblivious to the other fighters in the room. I finally pulled away and looked her in the eye.

"Stay with me, alright? We won't stand a chance if we're separated." I put the helmet back on.

Layala took my hand and squeezed it. "I will," she said softly.

I opened her hand and slid the necklace into it, struggling to think of the right words to say.

"I..." I began. Just then a loud horn sounded, its call echoing through the room.

"That's our signal," she said quietly, looking up into my eyes.

"We should go," I agreed reluctantly, inwardly kicking myself for not saying what I had wanted to. I slowly released her hand and we filed into the main hallway with the other fighters.

Lykar was waiting for us and motioned for us to follow him. The path began to go upwards until we reached a small door at the end.

"This is it," Lykar said with finality. "Through that door is the holding room. You will be elevated onto the arena from there. Good luck, may Morgoth show favor to you." He looked at us both for a moment, then turned away and disappeared down the long hallway.

I took a deep breath and locked eyes with Layala. This was indeed it... For better or worse.


	7. Chapter 6: The Pit

**Warning: This chapter is graphic. Read at your own discretion.**

As soon as I opened the door we were greeted with the acrid stink of blood and sweat. I took a step forward and saw that the floor of the room was a dark red hue... They clearly didn't bother to clean it after each fight. A couple pools of fresh blood stagnated on the floor, a slightly lighter hue than the dried blood that covered the rest of it.

Layala pulled her scarf up over her nose to drown out the stench. I didn't bother, for I was used to it.

We both walked to the middle of the room and waited patiently. I could feel my heart practically beating out of my chest, a combination of adrenaline and fear coursing through my veins.

The muffled sound of the announcers could be heard overhead as they introduced the other fighters pair by pair, and they droned on and on for what seemed like forever.

Suddenly there was an abrupt jolt, followed by the groaning of gears, and we moved slowly upward. It was our turn.

I felt Layala's hand grip mine, and I gave it a reassuring squeeze and looked over at her. Her eyes made contact with mine, and a single tear fell down her cheek.

"I'm scared," she whispered, her voice quivering. She seemed so small in that moment... so helpless.

I smiled softly, trying to calm the fear I suddenly felt within myself. "I am too... But we'll make it through this. Just stay close."

The ceiling opened as we neared it and blinding sunlight flooded down on us. We rose into the arena to the sound of deafening cheers and shouts from the audience.

"And from the wandering band of Chief Dakil come two warriors new to the Pit! Rukil, a prince of the savage, untamed Dorgeshi tribe in the north, and Layala, a warrior from Morgothrone itself!" The announcer's voice was thick with dramatization, filled with a mock sense of awe at my origins and false pride at Layala's. But it seemed to impress the crowd greatly, and the cheers grew louder.

I adjusted my helmet a little and looked around. The arena was huge, stretching on for what seemed like forever. At intervals along the edge were other teams of fighters, all waiting in anticipation and most likely feeling the same fear we were. I counted around twenty pairs, each strikingly different from the next. I noticed that Kirtra and Damil, the two fighters we had talked to before, were a couple groups away. I decided it would be wise to group with them, numbers would give us an advantage.

My planning was interrupted by the announcer. "And for this fight's Guests, we have two of the finest of the Khan's Wainriders!" He motioned dramatically to the center of the arena and the ground opened up, a platform raising to reveal two chariots, each manned by two heavily armored soldiers, one holding the reins while the other held a sturdy longbow. Their massive black warhorses snorted, stamping the dusty ground aggressively as steam began to rise from their sweaty hides.

My eyes widened in shock. I hadn't expected this...

"May the best fighters win! In the Khan's honor!" At this trumpets sounded, and all eyes turned to see the Khan himself appear on the highest balcony. He looked down to address the warriors in the Pit.

"You who are about to fight are some of the best in the land," his voice boomed. "Today you show your mettle and valor in combat!" At this the crowd roared. "Those of you that survive will be heroes of Rhun, immortalized for untold centuries to come! You will fight and bring honor to your tribe!" The crowd went wild.

He dropped a red handkerchief... And all hell broke loose.

The two Wainriders charged forward, and as one all of the warriors let out battle cries as they rushed into battle. I was immediately confronted by a large dark skinned man wielding a massive chain flail. He roared and rushed at me, swinging the flail in the air. With the speed of a panther I leapt over the flail and sliced at his head with my halberd, cutting it off in one swift move.

His body fell to the ground with a thud, revealing his teammate behind him, an equally large man with a warhammer. I dodged his first attack and fell back, simultaneously dropping low to the ground as I heard the crunch of sand underfoot behind me.

I had moved just in time. A thrust meant for me pierced my opponent's chest and he went down. The other attacker was a small shirtless man wearing a bronze mask. He thrust again with a short, jagged spear and I blocked it, advancing with a quick spinning attack that soon cut the man down.

"Layala!" I looked around the arena, quickly scanning to find her. She was engaged in combat with the scarred woman from our camp. Layala seemed to have the upper hand, and by the time I reached her she had cut the other woman's arm off. The woman fell to her knees, screaming as blood pooled onto the sand beneath her. Layala seemed uncertain of what to do, so I quickly lopped the woman's head off. Blood spurted from the stump of her neck as her headless torso fell to the ground. Layala looked at me in shock.

I merely nodded at her and wiped my bloodied hand off on my cuirass.

"Look out!" Layala suddenly cried. I executed a quick combat roll to the side and turned. I was face to face with the tattooed woman who was the other woman's companion. Her eyes were filled with hate as she swung at me with a blood-covered bardiche axe. I moved protectively in front of Layala as the woman let out a bloodcurdling cry and swung again. I quickly moved my weapon to block and then countered with a slash. It made contact with her lower stomach and drew blood. She narrowed her eyes and attacked with fury, splitting my halberd in half. I heard Layala fighting someone close behind me so I decided to draw my opponent away from her. I lunged for the body of a dead fighter, reaching for his sword.

It was just out of my reach... I rolled to the side as the woman's axe embedded itself in the sand where I had been a moment before. _Just a little closer... _I reached as far as I could, but the sword remained out of reach. I rolled away from another attack and kicked in my opponent's direction. I heard a grunt as my foot made contact and looked back to see her fall to the ground, her feet knocked out from under her. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed the sword, then dove on top of her, thrusting the sword into her chest. She didn't make a sound, but her eyes widened in shock. She grabbed my shoulder and roughly pulled me closer, forcing the blade to cut deeper into her in the process.

"You will die too," she said, coughing up blood. Just then her arm swung up and a hidden dagger in her hand cut into my side. I winced and jumped away from her, putting my hand to my side and feeling the sticky warm blood that was already coming out of the wound through my armor. I stabbed again with the sword, and I saw the life leave the woman's eyes. My wound was shallow, but painful. At least it hadn't done more damage, I thought to myself.

Just then, the sound of hooves alerted me to a Wainrider that was fast approaching behind me. I jumped out of the way, barely avoiding the blades on the wheels of the wain. If I hadn't killed my last opponent, the wain would have. The horses trampled her lifeless body, leaving a bloody mess of limbs and entrails behind. The Wainrider had a bow, and turned around and let off a shot in my direction. It whizzed past, barely missing me.

The Rider turned the wain around and charged toward me. I jumped out of the way and swung my halberd at one of the horses, but the armor on its chest made my weapon bounce harmlessly off.

Unfortunately, the wound in my side was slowing my reflexes, and I wasn't able to get entirely out of the way. The Rider held a net and snared me in it as he passed, pulling me off my feet and dragging me behind the wain. My skin was getting peeled off by the course sand, and I let out a shout of pain. It _burned._

I desperately tried to free myself from the net as the Wainrider continued to drag me around the arena. But the net was around me tightly, and I was barely able to move. Freeing myself would be nearly impossible.

Suddenly a blade cut the net open, causing me to tumble out of it onto the ground. A hand pulled me up and I was face to face with Kirtra.

"Are you alright?" She asked, looking around the arena.

"I guess," I said, examining my arms, which were raw and bloody. "Thank you, without your help I wouldn't have made it."

"Have you seen my husband?" She continued scanning the Pit.

"Can't say I have... Have you seen Layala?"

She kept looking, then pointed excitedly. "They're both over there, fighting together! I'm glad she found him! Let's go!" With that she cautiously made her way in that direction, making sure not to draw the attention of our opponents. There were still around twenty fighters on the field, and one of the wains was still causing havoc. The other wain was right in front of us, both horses dead in front of it.

Kirtra ran past, and before I could let out a shout of warning the Wainrider sprang from behind the wain and attacked her. She fell back in surprise and was barely able to keep away from him. He didn't seem to notice me, so I stealthily approached from behind. He was focused entirely on Kirtra, swinging repeatedly with a short scimitar. She had fallen to the ground, and was scrambling backwards on her hands away from him.

I rapidly closed the distance to him and stuck a dagger in his neck, causing the crowd to roar with excitement. The sound made me sick.

I jerked the dagger away from the soldier's neck, and he fell to the ground, gurgling as he collapsed.

I offered a hand to Kirtra and she gratefully accepted. I pulled her to her feet and we continued to move closer to Layala and Damil.

I looked to my dismay and saw that they were now fighting the two corsairs from the camp. Or rather, Layala was. Damil was cowering on the ground behind her, looking through his hands at the fight.

Suddenly the wind was knocked out of me from behind and I fell to my knees, gasping to catch my breath. A hulking brute of a man stood over me... No, it wasn't a man. It was a Troll-man. They came from Far Harad and were often sent to fight in arena battles. This one looked particularly fierce, with white war paint decorating his inhuman face in a barbaric pattern.

He growled at me and swung a gruesome spiked club in my direction. I blocked and saw Kirtra rushing at the Troll-man, her sword raised to attack.

The creature's attention was focused on her for the moment, which allowed me to catch my breath and stand up. I swung my sword at the Troll-man, cutting his side open. He roared in pain and swung blindly in my direction, giving Kirtra a chance to attack. She slashed at his stomach, causing him to double over in pain as blood gushed from both wounds. He swung at her and his club made contact, sending her flying. She hit a nearby pillar with a sickening crunch.

With lightning fast speed the Troll-man turned toward me. He grabbed my wrist and wrenched the sword from my grasp, yanking me toward him. I struggled to keep away, but he was strong. Really, brutally strong.

My feet began to slide on the blood and sand that covered the ground under us. At that moment I noticed the dagger in the Troll-man's other hand. He was slowly pulling me closer and closer to it.

I desperately looked around for something, _anything, _that'd give me a fighting chance. I only saw one option, and it was a risky one at that.

I swiftly aimed a kick at the Troll-man's stomach where Kirtra had stabbed him. He howled as I kicked the wound, but didn't loosen his grip on me. I dug my foot deeper into the wound, eliciting another howl of pain from the Troll-man. I felt his grip loosening, and with a quick motion I used his stomach as a launching pad, kicking with all my strength and wrenching myself free from his grasp. I rolled to the ground and picked my sword up, turning to face the beast.

But I had done enough. My last kick had been fatal, and the Troll-man had collapsed to the ground, holding his stomach in agony as he gasped his last breath.

I sprinted over to Kirtra, who was trying to get up.

"I can't feel my leg," she gasped. I looked her over. Her left leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and her left arm was broken. A bone had broken through the skin and was sticking out. She grimaced and continued to try to stand.

"No, stay here. Play dead if you have to. I'll go help your husband." With that I turned and sprinted toward Layala and Damil...

But I was too late.


	8. Chapter 7: They Don't Even Bury Our Dead

My heart stopped and I rushed madly forward, oblivious to all around me. Please no, I thought to myself in panic.

The corsair looked up at the sound of my approach, giving a wicked grin as he aimed his sword downward.

Ready to deliver the finishing blow to Layala.

She was already badly injured. Blood gushed openly from a wound in her side, and a long gash ran across her forehead.

She turned her head to face me, her eyes meeting mine. They were filled with terror, a horrible image that would scar my mind forever. I let out a wordless cry of anguish just as the corsair stabbed downward.

Time slowed as I threw my dagger at him with all my strength. I saw it bury itself deep into his shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain. But my attack came too late, for his blade had already stabbed into Layala's chest. No, no no... This couldn't be happening.

I screamed and rushed the corsair in a frenzy, grabbing a nearby spear and lunging at him. He jumped back and pulled my dagger from his shoulder. He seemed to be losing consciousness, and he dropped the dagger immediately. But I wouldn't have that. He would suffer for what he did.

I strode to him and grabbed him roughly by the neck, lifting him a few inches off the ground with the strength that came with the rush of adrenaline. He struggled desperately, trying to free himself.

"You'll pay," I spat at him. I threw him to the ground and picked up my dagger, then jumped on top of him. I slowly brought the dagger to his forehead, cutting a deep gash in it.

"You made her suffer... I'll make you suffer the same way!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with emotion. At this the audience, which I had until now forgotten about, screamed madly with excitement at the prospect.

Suddenly I stopped, the sickening cheering bringing me back to reality. No... I wouldn't draw this out. Not for their entertainment. I wouldn't become the barbarian they wanted me to be.

I let out a shout and brought the dagger down, quickly ending the corsair's wretched life. The crowd roared in what seemed to be excited, yet slightly disappointed glee.

I ran over to Layala, tears running down my face. Snap out of it Rukil! Tears are for the weak! I tried to tell myself as I fell to my knees beside her. I lifted her into my arms, praying to any gods above that she was still alive.

Her eyes suddenly opened slightly.

"Rukil? Where am I?" She said weakly.

"You're... You're in the Pit. But you're safe now, everything's going to be okay." I looked down at her wound. When I saw it, I realized that it wouldn't be okay. She was dying.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

"No no no, please don't go!" I held her tightly and let the tears fall, my voice quivering in fear.

Her eyes opened again and she looked up at me. "Rukil... I'm sorry I didn't do better," she said the words with sorrow. "I dreamed of the life we would have had if we both made it..." She trailed off.

"No listen to me. We're going to see your family, and after that we'll... We'll... You're going to be alright, please be alright." I was panicking. I couldn't lose the only person I cared about.

She smiled weakly. "I would've liked that. But you have to let me go. Promise me you'll make a new life for yourself. A good one. Please?" She reached a hand up, loosely taking mine in hers. I felt the cold steel of the necklace I had given her against my skin as she gave it back, and I could hold back no longer.

"I can't have a good life without you Layala, please don't go... I need you." My words fell on deaf ears. She went limp and her hand fell to her side, and her eyes closed.

"Layala no, stay with me... I can't..." I broke down crying, not caring if another opponent saw me and killed me. I drowned out the sound of the crowd, the sound of the fighting, everything. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't live without her.

Just then I felt a gentle hand touch my shoulder.

"It's over. We won."

I stayed next to Layala until soldiers entered the arena and forced me and the few other survivors to the center. I was numb. I had seen death before. Many times I had been the executioner. But it had never hit this close to home. Not even the first time I killed.

Kirtra had stayed next to me the whole time after the battle ended. She looked terrible, and she was mourning the death of her husband. But I also saw in her eyes the resolve of a survivor.

The voice of the announcer was a dull thud in my ears. The only thing I heard was Layala's name when he listed the fatalities. The audience grew louder when he named the "winners."

Two other warriors I didn't recognize had survived as well. One was clearly a Haradrim, his scarlet clothing and the serpent tattoo on his arm a testament to his heritage. He was burly and muscular, and seemed mostly unscathed from the fight despite his lack of armor. The other was an unusually pale man with blond hair. I could tell that he wasn't from the East at all.

As the announcer droned on and on, I took the opportunity to look around, scanning the faces in the crowd. They, not us, were the real barbarians. They watched killing of their own free will. Most of us were forced to fight. Their gleeful expressions betrayed their inner intentions, and for that I hated them. I hated them for their freedom. I hated them for their bloodlust. But most importantly, I hated them because they had taken Layala from me.

The announcer finally stopped, and streamers of colored paper fell from boxes above us as we were escorted out. As soon as we were out, I grabbed one of the guard's shoulders.

"What do they do with the... With the dead?" I forced out.

The guard callously pushed me away. "They load them onto wagons at the back entrance and dispose of them."

"They don't even get a burial?" I yanked the man around, forcing him to face me. The other guards drew their scimitars and pulled me back.

"No! They didn't win."

The three other survivors and I all found ourselves at the back entrance. We had been released when we left the arena, without any guidance or words of comfort.

Nearly forty bodies lay in rows, covered by thin white cloths. We all stood in silence, watching the undertakers load them unceremoniously onto the wagon.

Kirtra seemed on the verge of tears, but didn't cry. The Haradrim stood slightly behind us both, his expression unreadable but his dark eyes betrayed sympathy. It seemed as if he had just followed us for the companionship rather than to say farewell to anyone. The blond man was crying softly. I guessed that his teammate had been close to him.

I watched without expression. I felt hate welling up inside me once more that I struggled to suppress. What kind of people kill their own for sport? Who would watch one man kill another willingly?

On top of the hate, I felt sorrow. Unbearable sorrow. I had lost the only person dear to me. She had died before even having a chance to live a normal life.

I slowly produced the necklace from my pocket, bringing it to my lips as the tears began to fall. I didn't stop them this time; I didn't care what anyone thought of me.

I hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Layala what I truly felt. That I had loved her. And now, as I watched the covered bodies being loaded into the cart, I couldn't help but feel like a coward. I thought myself fearless, but my own fear had kept me from telling her. And now I would never get the chance to.

I lifted a hand to my forehead in silent mourning, until the wagon was filled and the undertakers slowly guided it away.

I turned away and silently walked away from the others, into the darkening streets of the city that had killed my love.


	9. Chapter 8: New Beginnings

**Note: This chapter deals with suicidal themes and alcohol. Skip to the divider if those easily bother you.**

Darkening shadows bled over the streets of Morgothrone as the sun finally set, staining them in black. The streets emptied at nighttime, as it was known by most that only the shadiest of the city's denizens wandered at night.

I didn't care. I passed by several cloaked men, each of whom were immediately deterred from approaching me by the weapons at my side. They were in search of easier prey.

I soon found myself on the walls, feet dragging as I reached the edge. As I came to a halt I could see the whole city in front of me: A thousand lights glittering like stars from the windows of the endless buildings that lined the streets.

But despite a city full of people, I was completely and utterly alone.

My bloodshot eyes slowly moved down, until I was looking over the edge of the wall to the ground dozens of feet below. Nobody would even care if I fell...

I took a step forward, my foot dangling over the emptiness. I had never believed in an afterlife, for whatever gods dwelt above were surely too twisted to grant us that mercy, but at least ending it all here would snatch me from the darkness that sought to claim me in my despair.

I closed my eyes, feeling the wet tears on my lashes as I took a deep breath. I hadn't been brave enough for Layala, surely I was at least brave enough for this...

A voice suddenly echoed through my mind. It was Layala's, but something was indecipherably _different_.

_"You have to let me go. Promise me you'll make a new life for yourself. A good one. Please?" _It came as if from afar, but it hit me with the force of a well placed kick to the abdomen.

I took a step back, opening my eyes as my heartbeat began to quicken. I couldn't afford to think so hopelessly... Even if it was all I could do.

I needed to not think at all at the moment, or else I would return to despair once more. In my depressed state, there was only one thing I could think of that would help with that: alcohol.

I made my way down the silent streets until I reached a small building. A sign hung beside the door that read _"The Full Flagon"._

I opened the door and was greeted by the sound of uproarious laughter, and glass shattering. I took in my surroundings, looking for an empty spot to sit.

There was a vast assortment of men and women within, many of them from the far reaches of Rhun. Balchoth tribesmen in their distinctive fur caps, merchants from Serakesh dressed in fine linen, and bearded slavers from Runakesh were just a few of the denizens whose origins I immediately recognized.

The majority of the bar's patrons were gathered around the fireplace, in front of which two men were wrestling. I went to the far corner of the room and took a seat alone. The bartender brought a bottle of ale over, and I ended up drinking several mugs of it.

Unfortunately, someone familiar was also at the tavern and as soon as he saw me, he began making his way toward me. I recognized the Fat Man immediately, though I had forgotten his name.

"Rukil! I thought I'd find you out here somewhere celebrating your victory!" He spoke loudly, which drew the attention of several in the tavern.

"Shut up," I growled at the Fat Man, roughly grabbing his wrist. "Tell me why you're talking to me, or leave. I'm in no mood for games."

His eyes widened a little, but he laughed regardless, his large belly shaking. "I meant no offense my good man! I am merely here to talk about the deal we had with your master!"

I narrowed my eyes. "Do refresh me about this 'deal'."

The Fat Man chuckled a little more. "Have you already forgotten? Or did the thrill of battle banish it from your mind?"

At the mention of the fight I lunged over the table and grabbed him by the neck. "If you mention the Pit one more time, you won't be able to walk out of here. So get on with it."

I was slightly drunk, so I realized I was probably going a little overboard with the intimidation. But I really didn't care. About anything. I felt completely numb.

"Fine, fine!" He gulped as his beady eyes bulged from their sockets. "My master, Lord Khanar, is one of the most powerful lords of Rhun. He marshals the second largest army we have, next only to the Khan's. His troops are also among the best trained. He watches the..." At this he trailed off, clearly not wanting to mention the fights again. I smirked slightly. "He watches fighters to gauge their skill, and the best of them are offered positions in his elite Lôke-Rim. Your skill has been tested, and you have been proven worthy. So, what do you say? Are you in?"

I thought for a moment. Right now I just wanted to die. To be honest, joining the Lôke-Rim might be the best way for that to happen.

"Fine. Where do I report to?" My words were slightly slurred, but my mind was clear enough. Probably. I just wanted to be rid of this repulsive slug of a man...

The Fat Man raised his eyebrows in surprise. It seemed as if he hadn't expected me to agree that easily. "Um, go to our camp outside the city tomorrow morning. Tell them I sent you and they'll get you armored up. Our Lord may want to speak with you as well." With that the Fat Man rose up laboriously from his seat. "Welcome to the War!" He said and laughed, then waddled away into the crowd.

"Hey, wait!" I exclaimed, but my voice was drowned by the clamor of the tavern.

What war was he talking about?

"The Final War has begun," Lord Khanar explained as he came to a table displaying a map. He pointed at a region directly west of Mordor. "Gondor has been an enemy of Sauron for as long as we can remember. We have unofficially been Sauron's allies for decades now, but an official alliance has at long last been brokered between us and him; A reliving of the glory days of old, perhaps." He turned to look at me. He was of noble stature, and his face was kindly, yet stern at the same time. The only strange thing about his appearance was his eyes; they were red like blood. As if the veins had somehow burst and had never fully healed.

"Why did we wait until now to ally with Sauron?" I asked.

"Coming from a small tribe I'm sure you know little of politics. No offense of course," Khanar said, looking back at the map. "Allow me to explain. An open alliance with Sauron would put us at odds with the forces of Gondor, Mirkwood, and the dwarves. We could not previously risk open war with them, especially the dwarves. With the Iron Hills at our doorstep the dwarves would attack quickly and brutally. Now, however, we are strong enough. On top of that, an influential chieftain cast his vote in favor of the alliance... Outnumbering the Khan and sealing our decision. You know that chieftain well," he said with a wry expression. "He is your brother."

I recoiled slightly at the words. "Ramil swore allegiance to the Dark Lord?"

Khanar raised an eyebrow in surprise. "It was unexpected to you? Perhaps you haven't been keeping up with the politics of your own people. When Ramil took the throne he swore fealty to another chieftain who was already loyal to Sauron."

I frowned. I knew he was weak. I didn't know he was _that_ weak.

"Our alliance now means we have the aid of Sauron's forces as well as our own," Khanar continued. "We are openly at war with Gondor and the elves of Mirkwood. The dwarves haven't responded to our provocations yet. For now, our forces will be 'prodding the warg' so to speak... We'll be attacking several frontier towns to gauge the Gondorian's reaction. We think that their forces are relatively weak, but we don't know for certain. The attacks will also be for show, to display the might of Rhun. Which is why the Lôke-Rim are being sent. They are the best of our soldiers and will send a clear message to the enemy."

I stood in thought for a moment, then slowly began to speak. "So... We're going to Gondor? What exactly have they done against us?"

Lord Khanar narrowed his eyes. "We've been at war with them in the past. They've burned our cities and killed our people. Recently, a small force of archers burned down a Balchoth border village. This is more or less revenge; As well as a show of loyalty to the Dark Lord." He walked around the table and drew closer to me.

"Do you really think it would be wise to anger him? Even if some of us don't agree with him, he's much too powerful. And, of course, the majority of the tribes are wholeheartedly loyal to him. You must stay on your feet in this game of politics Rukil... Otherwise you'll be trampled underfoot by those that do." He spoke in a confidential tone of voice and leaned in, speaking at a whisper. "I know your lineage. While the Dorgeshi are a small tribe, they are deep in the hotbed of conspiracies and backstabbing. As a prince of that tribe you will eventually have to claim your throne, humble as it is. Learn this lesson well. Always serve the one who holds the most power. And if they lose that power..." He made a slitting motion across his throat. "It's nothing personal. It's merely politics." He raised an eyebrow. "But you... You are loyal. Don't let anyone forget that. At least until the time is right."

Something about his words unnerved me. His intentions seemed decent, but there was much left unsaid. I did not know where he truly stood.

I nodded slightly and left the tent, careful not to betray my doubts to him.

It was entirely possible that he meant he wasn't loyal to Sauron. Or at least, that's what he wanted me to believe. Why he trusted me with that information was beyond me. He knew next to nothing about me as far as I knew. Then it dawned on me... He needed allies. If an alliance with Sauron had been brokered, the tribes would likely fight. And no matter what side Khanar was on, he would need to find out who his friends were.

I walked to the armory, still contemplating what I had learned. No. I wasn't going to claim my title. I would just stay a soldier until I died. Nobody cared about me except to use me for their own gain.

I was so deep in thought that I didn't notice the Haradrim until it was too late. I walked right into him, knocking us both to the ground.

I quickly sprang up and helped him to his feet. I recognized him as the one from the Pit. He chuckled.

"Watch where you're going my good man! Surely you aren't so oblivious that you didn't see me!" The Haradrim puffed out his chest, making him seem even larger. He was a mass of muscle.

"I was thinking," I said apologetically. He seemed like an amiable fellow and I didn't wish to upset him.

"Does thinking make you blind?" His voice was deep but friendly, and carried the distinctive accent of Harad.

"I am sorry, it won't happen again," I nodded and began to make my way past him, but he put an arm out to stop me.

"What is your name friend? I recognize you from the Pit but I don't recall your name."

I paused. "Rukil. My name is Rukil," I said quietly after a moment.

"Nice to make your acquaintance!" The Haradrim put a hand to his chest. "I am called Hadar."

"A pleasure," I nodded my head and held out my hand.

Unexpectedly Hadar wrapped me up in a tight bear hug. "I am not sure how you greet people in your land, but we Haradrim feel kinship to our brothers in Rhun. So I shall greet you as a brother."

I tried to breathe but couldn't, his grip was too tight. I gasped and tapped his shoulder, and he released me. I took a deep breath of air.

"Well we shall be fighting alongside each other, unless you're not in the Lôke-Rim," I said.

"Well I am not! But I'll be fighting alongside you nonetheless. I joined a band of mercenaries that was hired by your lord." He gave me a toothy grin.

"You were busy!" I exclaimed, surprised that he had done that much in one day.

"I've been in mercenary groups before. It's not hard to join them if you know where to look. I'm sure I get paid more than you also," he raised an eyebrow.

"My wage is thirty silver per week." I grinned slightly. He frowned.

"Perhaps I should have joined you then. We get paid per kill."

I laughed. "You'd better hope these Gondorians are bad fighters then!"

Hadar scowled. "To be truthful, I don't want to kill them. When I signed on I hoped we'd be killing orcs, or even dwarves. Not other men. I had enough of that in the Pit."

I hadn't thought about that. I shrugged it off for the moment, not wanting to consider it.

"I'm sure they're cruel men, if what I've heard is true," I spoke reassuringly.

Hadar looked at the ground. "I hope you are right." He kicked a small rock and looked up. "Regardless, I am glad I know someone in this group now." I smiled and saluted.

"I hope we talk again soon," I returned the smile and turned away, making my way toward the armory.

"What'll it be?" The man behind the counter said. All of the armor was in the back room, so I wouldn't be able to choose.

"I'm in the Lôke-Rim," I said simply and slid an identification paper over the counter. He examined it and walked into the back room.

"It'll be just a moment sir, wait there." He called from the other room.

I took a seat on a bench, and waited. A moment later the blond man from the Pit entered, looking around nervously. His eyes landed on me and he quickly looked away.

Leaning on the counter, he looked back into the room the armorer had entered.

"He'll be out soon," I said. The blond man jumped at my voice and looked back at me.

"Oh... Uh... You're Rukil right?" He ran a hand through his short curly hair.

"Yes, and you are?" I asked. I assumed he heard the announcers say my name, and that's why he knew.

"I'm Déorbrand. Brand for short." He smiled awkwardly.

"Déorbrand... That's an unusual name. Not from Rhun I take it?" I tried to sound friendly, since the man was clearly nervous.

"I'm... I'm from Rohan." He scratched his head.

I raised an eyebrow. "Rohan? That's impressive, you'll have to tell me about it sometime." I smiled.

"I don't remember it. I was kidnapped when I was an infant." He turned around as the armorer came out with my armor.

"Here you go sir! It should fit. Come back if it doesn't." He looked at Brand. "How can I help you?"

I left the building and strode back to the campsite. Things were changing. It was a chance for me to begin again, start over. But I'd never forget Layala.

**End of Part 1**


	10. Part 1: Epilogue

And that, my friends, is my story to this point. It is a sad tale, really. However, through hardships come resolve. The sands of change are covering my past life, and are showing me the way to a new one.

Whether that life is good or not remains to be seen. But there is hope where light shows the way.

I have lost much. The one who I loved most is now dead, her life only a memory. But I have gained as well. Brand marched beside me, in the armor of the Lôke-Gamp-Rim. Hadar was a short distance behind us with the other mercenaries. These were my friends now.

I look now upon the line of men snaking ahead on the dunes, purposefully making their way to Gondor with doom in their hearts. This is my path now. Whether by choice or design, I do not know. I suppose that depends on whether you believe in a divine being. I, myself, no longer know what I believe.

But I do know this: My story is far from over. In fact, it is just beginning.


	11. Part 2: Prologue

A guard stood watch above the gate, peering into the lifeless fog. The sound of hooves alerted him to the rider, emerging like a ghost from the mists.

"Who goes there?" He called out into the night, his deep voice echoing on the sunbleached walls that stood in the distance. The rider stopped at the gate, and looked up.

"It is I, Boromir, Son of Denethor! Open the gate, and quickly!"

The guard nodded curtly and turned, shouting orders to the soldiers below, and they pulled the gate open slowly. It creaked loudly until the massive door ground to a halt, left wide open to the night. However, Boromir didn't wait for the gates to finish their journey, but rode through, galloping madly up the street. The keep's doors burst open, and Boromir strode purposely forward. The captain of the town-guard hastily entered from a side room, in the process of throwing on a shirt. He had clearly just woken up.

"An army approaches from the East," Boromir said urgently. "Our scouts say it is no more than three days' march from here."

The captain blinked groggily, as if not totally comprehending his words. "Whose army is it?" He grunted, expression suddenly grave. Well, at least it looked grave. He could be wrong.

"There's Easterlings, hundreds of them. And there appear to be Southrons, as well as orcs. I do not know what their plan is, but you must alert the soldiers!" Boromir grabbed the captain by the arm.

Irritated, he roughly pulled away, clearly annoyed at having been woken. "You alert them. I'm going to sleep." He shuffled away and slammed the door to his room.

Boromir put a hand to his head and groaned aloud. He'd have to do this himself. As always.


	12. Chapter 9: First Contact

We had marched for days. Once we had left the desert, the landscape had changed drastically. The ground was barren and rocky, and a foul smell like that of rotten eggs permeated the air. It was rather unpleasant to be around, though we couldn't much help it. Hadar had told me we were north of Mordor, and that only the ominous black mountains in the distance separated us from that land... The land of Shadow. It had long ago been laid to waste, but it was slowly being rebuilt under the ever watchful Eye of Sauron.

It seemed also that a noxious gas wafted up from fissures and crags in the rocks. As soon as it touched my eyes, it burned them, making it difficult to breathe and see. But still we marched on. There was no turning back, not now.

Eventually we came to a large Gate. It was black as the void, with jagged pinnacles on the top that seemed to leer down at us like the teeth of a giant beast.

As we drew closer, an Orc heralded our approach from one of the jagged parapets, his voice harsh and guttural as it rang through the air. After a moment, the gate opened, gaping like a great maw, standing ready to devour us. We didn't enter, for the army was ordered to a halt just outside. Only Lord Khanar and his retinue went forth through the gate, soon disappearing into its cavernous depths.

"The Black Gate..." Brand whispered hoarsely, awe and fear lacing his words. He stood directly beside me, and I glanced over at him. His icy blue eyes seemed to try to take in the massive gate, or as much as he could. It would take many years to fully understand and get used to the menacing structure.

"I wonder why we stopped," I murmured back quietly, though my expression didn't change.

"Silence!" An officer shouted as he rode past on horseback. I immediately shut my mouth, not wanting to draw attention to myself any more than I had to.

As the minutes seemed to stretch into hours, I began to grow impatient. We had been waiting there for hours, and it was beginning to grate on my nerves. I didn't have any idea why we were even there, or why it was taking so long. I just wanted to do something. Move, talk. anything. But as the officers hadn't ordered us to be at ease, we all stood stiffly at attention for an excruciatingly long time. Sighing softly, I rolled my eyes and risked a glance upwards to the top of the gate. In the depths of the swelling shadows, several orcs stood, talking quietly and gesturing towards us.

I had heard tales of the Orcs. There were tribes of them in Rhun, though I had never seen one face-to-face. Even from this distance I could see that they were horrid creatures, their small, squinting eyes roving about from dark wrinkled faces that were scarred and tattooed beyond recognition. They were savage beasts that fought themselves as much as anyone else.

Unfortunately, the calm didn't last for long. Their voices began to grow louder and louder, the clamor reaching the ears of my group. It lasted quite a while, and their speech was grating, crude and rough. I wondered how long they would keep it up. It went on, slowly rising in volume until it peaked, one of the orcs drawing a crooked sword. The brute didn't hesitate to run the blade straight through his comrade, following up with a fierce kick that sent him careening off the wall. As the creature hit the floor with a dull splat, I raised an eyebrow in amusement. The stories of their treachery were founded, evidently.

Finally, and much to my relief, Lord Khanar emerged from the gate. But he was not alone.

Behind him marched Orcs. And a lot of them, each heavily armored and wielding crooked weapons and large, cruel shields. Instantly, I heard Brand inhale, and I looked over at him.

"Not orcs..." He breathed, his voice shaky. The fell creatures loped heavily along, and easily fell in behind the Lòke-Rim. They spoke to each other in rough, scraggly voices as they milled around, painting a clear contrast with the uniformed stillness of the Easterlings. Even the mercenaries looked disciplined in comparison.

"Lòke-Rim! Our Lord Sauron has sent these fighters to aid us in our attack! Treat them as you would your own comrades!" Lord Khanar bellowed loudly as he rode slowly down our line. I glanced over at the orcs, who were either examining their weapons or sneering at us with barely concealed contempt, and their expressions reminded me uncomfortably of a hungry predator watching its next meal. It was obvious they didn't like us. The feeling was mutual, and if my face wasn't mostly hidden by the thin burgundy scarf I wore, I'd sneer back... Although, I admitted, orcs were beneath me. No point in wasting the time.

I turned back to face forward just as one of the officers cried out the order to march. The column once more resumed the monotonous march, and we made our way away from the Black Gate, the orcs keeping close behind us. Something about this alliance made me feel uneasy...

Later on, nearing sundown -though it was hard to tell in this barren land- we made camp for the night. It was what Hadar had called the Dagorlad Plains. It looked slightly less barren here... But only slightly. Sickly, yellowish brown grass sprang up in clumps in places, fighting to survive against the weeds. Several trees dotted the landscape, though they appeared dead, their branches reaching towards the sunlight like the knobby hands of an old beggar.

I set up my small tent near one such tree. Despite the land, the tree gave a sense of... security. Its branches reached over me, almost protectively. Beside me, Hadar and Brand set up their own tents, and we all took a seat.

In the silence I glanced around, taking in our bleak surroundings. To the west was a fog that hung over the ground, and strange lights flickered through it. "Do either of you know what that is?" I asked quietly, gesturing towards the mist.

"Those are the Dead Marshes," Hadar responded, purposely speaking in a low, mysterious voice. "There was a great battle that took place there in the Second Age. They say that you can still see the dead in the water... Elves, orcs, men. And the lights will guide you further and further into the marsh, luring you in until all hope of finding your way back out is lost; Then you will join the corpses."

I smirked at Hadar. "You don't really believe that... The bodies surely would've rotted hundreds of years ago." Hadar simply laughed in response.

"You are right my friend. I'm sure those are only old wives tales, meant to scare people away. Still, people have gotten lost in there before. Most travelers prefer to circle around them."

"I assume that's what we'll do then?" I asked, still staring unconsciously into the ghostly fog.

"Of course not! Gondor is southwest, we have no need to worry about the marshes. The road will lead us to our destination." Hadar quickly rummaged through his supplies, and held out a piece of dried meat.

"Kine jerky! I was told it's very good," he grinned reassuringly. Shrugging, I took it and laughed slightly.

"My people eat this every day. We herd the kine. It's quite good." I took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. The gamey taste of the meat reminded me of my "home," if it could be called that. We never stayed in the same place long. We always followed the wild kine herds wherever they went, hunting them and living off their meat and furs. My tribe was far from a good place to be raised though. Many children died before they reached adulthood, not just because of the fights but because of the times of famine, when the kine were scarce. It was a harsh life. One that I was glad to have left behind, even if this wasn't much better.

A firm hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present.

"There's a man to your right. He's been watching us this whole time. It seems odd to me," Brand whispered nervously, his eyes darting back in that direction briefly.

Raising an eyebrow, I waited a moment, then slowly glanced over.

Seated near a small fire was a lone man. His face was covered by a scarlet scarf, and his piercing green eyes gazed intently at me. But that hardly kept my attention. What I noticed immediately were the strange blades that were attached to his hands, alike in appearance to long claws. They were engraved with intricate designs, almost appearing to be ornamental. They looked severely sharp however, like whetted swords. The unusual man seemed to notice my attention, and firmly skewered a leg of mutton with his 'claw' and brought it to his mouth. He then turned away from us, lowering the scarf to eat.

I looked back at Hadar and Brand, confused. "Is he even one of ours?" I asked suspiciously. Hadar's eyes narrowed considerably.

"He's been with the mercenaries for three days now. He slipped in among them and nobody has noticed. Except me." He flashed a cocky grin, filled with pride at his own observance.

"Who do you think he is?" Carefully considering the question, I looked at the Haradrim curiously. He looked back, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Have you heard of the Order of the Moon?" He asked in a whisper, leaning in as if he was sharing a secret.

"Aren't they assassins?" Brand asked.

Hadar tried to stay serious. "I think he's one of them."

I laughed. The Order was more a legend than anything. Ominous warriors wearing golden masks, hunting targets from the shadows. They were sometimes jokingly used as an explanation when people went missing, a boogieman of sorts.

"They don't even exist!" I said after a moment of laughing. Hadar joined in.

"Aye. Truth be told though, he could be anyone." Hearing my friend's tone, I suddenly grew serious.

"Why is he here though? It seems more than a little strange to me."

Hadar grinned again. "Let's go ask him, shall we?"

I wasn't so sure that was the best idea, but before I had a chance protest Hadar rose from his seat by the fire. As I stood I turned, and my mouth opened in shock when I saw that the strange man had disappeared. Vanished. There was no sign that he had even been there. Not even the fire he had been sitting by moments before remained. No smoldering coals, no smoke, nothing.

"Well... Seems like our man didn't want to be discovered," Hadar commented wryly, some disappointment in his tone. Shrugging, and being more than a little tired, I waved it off. It was probably nothing.

"Ah, well. I'm going to sleep, the road is long tomorrow." With that, I promptly pulled back the flap of my tent and collapsed onto the ground. My feet were killing me from the march, and I was exhausted. I didn't even want to think of assassins or strange men. We hadn't stopped long enough to sleep in three days. I had the right to believe I deserved some rest. But sleeping on cold metal was hardly comfortable. Sighing loudly, I pulled off my armor piece by piece, enjoying the increased mobility offered by removing it. Then, stretching my arms and legs, I curled up, asleep before my head hit the bedroll.

I awoke to the sound of men crying out and armor clanking as soldiers rushed around the camp. Alarmed, I hastily strapped on my own armor and rushed out of the tent. I was met by a chaotic sight. Several soldiers were lying dead on the ground, grey-feathered arrows sticking up from their backs. Others hastily formed into teams, turning every which way to face a threat that seemed to come from no decipherable direction. An officer galloped up on horseback, waving his scimitar in the air. "Form a shield wall! It's an ambush!" He cried out.

I hastened to my comrades, rectangular shield held high to protect me from any missiles that whizzed through the air above. The other men had already formed into a square, and I was unfortunate enough to be caught outside it. I recoiled when an arrow hit my shield, bouncing off with a clang. I spun around in the direction it had come from, seeing that the onslaught seemed to be focused from a clump of trees to the west. They were well concealed, though, for I couldn't see anyone there.

Hadar ran swiftly to my side, his arm bleeding from where an arrow had barely nicked him.

"There must be around thirty or so men in the trees over there," he exclaimed, pointing animatedly. "They're dressed in green." Knowing what he said was likely true, I threw my halberd to the ground and drew my sword.

"There aren't many places to hide," I said and grinned at the burly Haradrim. I could tell that he immediately caught on to what I was suggesting, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

"Charge!" I cried as I rallied my fellow soldiers. Leaping into a sprint, I ran in the direction of the trees, not bothering to look back. But as I gained speed, I heard the men let out a loud battle cry as they charged behind me.

We were within thirty or so feet of the trees when I saw our enemy. There were only several dozen men, dressed in green cloaks and wearing scarves to cover their pale faces. They let off a volley of arrows, and I heard a cry of pain behind me as one hit its mark. We kept running.

As we persisted in our charge, the cloaked men seemed shaken, and several of them ran. I was the first to reach them, and I quickly cut down a man who stood in front of me.

The rest of the Lòke-Rim made contact, and the clanging of steel filled the air, the scent of blood filling my senses. Many of the men wore leather cuirasses all bearing the same symbol: a white tree. But it was soon stained red with their own blood. We would give no quarter. As I watched, I knew they would have run long ago if not for one man, who I assumed was their captain.

He waved a banner back and forth, urging his men to fight on with cries of encouragement. He managed to cut down any of our men who attempted to silence him, his sword stained with their blood. But no matter what he did, the battle would be over in a matter of time.

Regardless, it would be easier with him out of the way. I leapt toward the captain with a cry, quickly closing the distance between us. Clearly a man skilled in combat, he deftly dodged my attack and continued to shout. Nothing would silence him, unless it was death. His reddish blond hair ruffled in the wind, and he held the banner in defiance.

The Captain had a noble air, I thought to myself. It would be a shame to kill him. But it needed to be done. So, I attacked again, this time more aggressively. The man stood strong against my attacks, refusing to budge an inch. He was strong. Just then, one of his men called out to him.

"Faramir, we must fall back! Their forces are too great!" The captain, evidently named Faramir, swiftly jumped away from me, calling out to his men.

"Retreat! Retreat! Back to the town!" His eyes locked with mine, his expression seeming to question whether I'd let him retreat. The distrust in his eyes was evident. But I saw that he was a noble man. Something about him was different than most; alike to the purity of cold mountain water cascading down a fall.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, I gave a slight nod. I didn't even fully realize why I was doing it; Perhaps it was because I was simply tired of killing. He looked at me gratefully -though still slightly distrustful, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening- and turned away, disappearing into the night.


End file.
